This was supposed to be a night to swoon over Daniil Trifonov’s dazzling pianism, as showcased in Brahms’ First Piano Concerto. The near-capacity hall attested to his pulling power. However, regardless of his indisputable talent, there seems to be a legend-making machine at work, not necessarily to his benefit, pushing his reputation towards the mystique of another Russian-born, Manhattan-resident virtuoso: Vladimir Horowitz.
Trifonov has already garnered superlatives such as “the most astounding pianist of our age” and “arguably today’s leading classical virtuoso”. If there is any truth in these, then what we saw on Wednesday was only a shadow, not the artist himself. With its combination of exaltation, drama, pathos, frenzy and longing, Brahms’ turbulent D minor concerto is certainly tailor-made for a larger-than-life artistic temperament. But from the very first piano entry, Trifonov seemed distant and disengaged, virtually sleepwalking through the achingly lyrical chords.
Set against a Toronto Symphony Orchestra on great form and a conductor, Gustavo Gimeno, sensitive to magical underlying currents and instrumental voices, Trifonov came across as rehearsing rather than actually performing. His fingers were as nimble as ever. He made the piano confide and whisper; his pedalling was immaculate; his double octaves were executed with enviable ease. But these were all means without ends. The slow movement was not so much tranquil as tranquilised, and the finale’s Hungarian hot-bloodedness was only discernible from the orchestral contribution.
Was this an experiment gone wrong? Was it a dare? Was Trifonov trying to make a point that this concerto does not need barnstorming intensity in order to make its point? Torontonians are polite, and quite a few stood to applaud; but it felt as though this was more for the Trifonov they had expected to hear, rather than the one who actually turned up. The mumbled delivery of the encore, the Allemande from Rameau’s A minor Suite, did little to redeem things.
Curiously, the feeling of let-down connected with the opening piece. George Walker was the first African-American composer to win a Pulitzer prize, and his music is certainly competent, talented and dignified. But his concise three-movement Sinfonia no. 2 of 1992 is resolutely uncommunicative. It opens with an energetic motivic progression and splashy orchestral colours, but all too soon it loses its energy and fizz and goes into creative hibernation. The short second movement features a Debussian flute solo, set against a few perfunctory cello and guitar chords. The Finale again opens promisingly, with hints of jazz, but it too never takes wing. Gimeno and the orchestra made as strong a case for the piece as they could.
But it was Lutosławski’s exuberant Concerto for Orchestra that stole the show. Apart from enabling the TSO to display its flair, stamina and coordination to the max, the Polish composer’s showpiece must count among the most innovative and inventive reworkings of folk tunes: a recipe virtually de rigueur for Eastern-bloc composers during the late Stalinist period, but never realised with such daredevil panache.
Gimeno’s account was beautifully paced, even if the paciness presented challenges to the orchestra in the later stages of the first movement. The scurrying tremors that open and close the second movement were completely captivating, and the cumulative final Passacaglia-Toccata-Chorale kept us enthralled up to the final moment. This was the undoubted highlight of the concert: as invigorating as Trifonov was enervating and Walker earthbound.
